Prince and beyond
by SCP-blank
Summary: AU. Argus Filch was a 'filthy squib'. However, he was also a con man. And Niccolo Machiavelli's reincarnation. Deatly Hallows, Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin, Regulus Black, vampires and werewolves, seers Narcissa Malfoy . Vast liberties with canon.


AN: My version of Filch looks exactly like Steve Buscemi (from _Sopranos_). Also I've taken lots and lots of liberties. Apparently wizards of early middle-ages spoke modern age English instead of Latin or other languaged popular during that historic period.

_(mi amicus - _my friend - in latin.)

(_Vos mos non permaneo aeternum - _you won't last forever.)

* * *

**Chapter One**

**1010-?-?**

**White cliffs of Dover, British isles.**

Salazar Slytherin stared down from the high cliff, his gold rimmed robes billowing in the shore side wind about him. He felt and looked lost to the world, with no possessions on his bar lone wand and nothing to tie him down to his birth land.

He didn't care much that he had to run - he never liked the rainy climate of ole' England or the people living there but what he did care about very much was that he lost. He let Godric win and now, undoubtedly, the three filth lovers would defile his masterpiece with those ungrateful maggots.

The only decent mudblood he taught was Merlin and the latter always claimed his heritage was the only misfortune to ever lay upon him. It helped, of course, that Merlin at age of eleven could do things without his wand that shamed Gryffindor himself.

"Prepared to run, eh?"

Slytherin didn't turn, a bold and challenging move, as it conveyed he held no respect and did not fear the person behind him at all.

"I got my message, it seems." Slytherin answered and the man behind him come to stand next to him.

The pale, hollow skin was of the same colour as the cliffs below them. He followed Slytherin's gaze and traced the waters once, twice before his hands rummaged inside his pockets and took out a roll of parchment.

"I did." He answered and grinned, his unusually long canines showing. Slytherin managed to ignore the instinct to bolt from the predator on his side. After all, the vampire and him were old acquaintances and he was used to this intimidating behavior.

As much as one could get used to the idea of knowing a magical being that fed on human blood and had no qualms about it.

"May I?" Slytherin inclined his head to the scroll but the vampire just grinned wider.  
"Ah ah ah" He waved his finger, chastising the wizard. "Fist, you answer some questions, Lord Slytherin."

The title in the vampires mouth sounded like a mocking and Salazar gripped his wand in anger, controlling his temper.

"Are you really fleeing the country?" the unspoken like a coward rang in Slytherin's ears.

"Yes, Sanguini." He grunted, forcing the vampire's name from his teeth like it was a piece of meal stuck between them.

"Huh, shame, really." Sanguini said, not sounding even slightly disappointed, just curious. "And what about this plan of yours." The vampire continued, waving his hands vaguely.

"What plan?" Salazar flinched inwardly at the terrible attempt of evasion. He really was not at his best if that was the best he could manage.

"Oh, my dear amicus, have you really thought I wouldn't look what's inside? Or that I wouldn't know just what exactly Merlin dealt with?"

Salazar frowned. Sanguini was supposed to be the middle man and deliver the priceless scrolls without knowing a squat about it. The scrolls were much to valuable to be sent by an owl and Salazar didn't want to risk meeting Merlin on the off chance he would try to convince him to stay and form a rebellion.

After all, Merlin really didn't understand the finesse of politics. The last he heard from his start pupil, the latter was pissing about with the muggle king and scheming with (or against - he wasn't clear on details) Morgan le Fay.

The company he kept spoke wide lengths about his mental state.

"You owe me, Sanguini." Slytherin reminded the vampire. "So give the scroll to me before I invoke the debt."

The vampire laughed off his threat but nevertheless obeyed.

"At least tell me this, wizard." Sanguini asked just as he handed out the scroll. "Why do you want immortality this way? I could have offered to change you years ago if I thought you were interested to live forever."

'I didn't want to become a magic-less beast' Slytherin thought to himself but just flashed a fake, mysterious smile into the vampire's general direction, avoiding the bloodshot eyes, and clutching the scroll, which contained the details of ritual on Horcrux making, disapparated, never to return.

* * *

**1513-?-?**

**Florence, Tuscany.**

"My, my - how mighty had fallen!" The rich low voice, sweet as honey said, prickling the prisoner's ears and making his skin itch - not just a minor irritation but the prisoner in question would have rather eaten himself alive bit by bit instead of admitting it.

The prisoner - born and bred Italian with dark complexion and moderately handsome appearance with the right clothes - now, with indescribable rags covering him appeared no more than a low life errand boy.

There were some quiet shuffling but eventually his tormentor stepped out of the shadows. His stance spoke volumes about his stature but his appearance was truly hideous. He had long, grey beard, neatly plaited and he was on the very edge of balding - almost bald but not all. His eyes were grey and bore into the hunched prisoner, with mirth and smugness.

"Do you feel very powerful at the moment, Sal?" The prisoner intoned, his accented English just barely understandable.

The tormentor blanched at the mention of his name, a scowl marring his face.

"Not here, you filth." He looked around and took out his wand, twirling it once or twice.

He grinned toothily when he saw the prisoner's eyes following the wand with a desperate expression. He then purposely waved the wand just in front of the prisoner's nose but just as he attempted to grab it, Sal put it away somewhere among the cloths of his expensive robes.

"Just think - " Sal continued. "How differently everything would have turned out for you, Niccolo, if only you had listened to me and stopped expecting equal footing." Sal shook his head in pretentious moroseness. "If only you had accepted yourself for who you are - a mudblood filth - but that's water under the bridge, now, isn't it?"

The prisoner ignored Sal as he stared at the opposing wall for a long time, turning back to face the latter man with an impish smirk. Sal narrowed his eyes and took out his wand again. He was about to comment on Niccolo's cheek when the latter laughed.

"Oh, Sal." He muttered, sounding as thought form a far away land, his expression nostalgic. "I knew you were a demented person from the moment I saw you. I guess that's what happens when you tear your very essence to pieces, am I right, mi amicus?"

"Crucio!"

That was Sal's only answer. And after he finished the torture, contemplating about departing from that disgusting smelly prison, Salazar Slytherin was caught of guard.

"Your plan won't work, you know, Slytherin." Niccolo Machiavelli intoned carefully, as he wheezed for air. "I know you won't succeed, I have seen it."

Salazar whirled around, jamming his wand to Niccolo's throat with impulse to silence the man but he hesitated.

"Vos mos non permaneo aeternum - " Machiavelli sang out mockingly but to Slytherin it seemed almost like an enchantment, and because of fear that crept upon him, Slytherin's patience ran out.

A green flash later, the prisoner's limp body lay on the cobble stone floor with no signs of torture added.

The body - the only piece of evidence of this occurrence lay there for a moment before it burst into flames right in front of the alleged dead Salazar Slytherin, waking him up from his shock and prompting him to move as far way as he can.

He ran and in his haste didn't even notice the symbol inscirbed on the wall that began to shone just as the body turned to ashes.

The lone symbol shone long after Slytherin vanished. It shone brightly upon the dusty floor - a triangle, a circle inside of it and a line, dividing the circle in half.

And as a gust of wind blew from the barred hole that was barely reminiscent to window, the wind carried in a quiet whisper, almost subsonic and impossible to hear.

"He then greeted Death as an old friend and went with him gladly, departing this life as equals."

* * *

**1991-09-01**

**Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.**

"- and it is with my greatest pleasure that I announce your new Defense against the dark arts teacher - Grand Sorcerer Argus Filch!" Albus Dumbledore, the greatest headmaster intoned, not hiding his appreciation of the circumstances from the crowd.

It was publicly known that the two were good friends, at least the public thought so - and neither of them bothered to correct it. After all, powerful men had to have powerful friends, just in case.

Even if they couldn't stand each other.

The man in question - gray haired man with prim robes and pale green eyes scanned the crowd attentively, not missing the minor of details, taking in the atmosphere so to speak. He acknowledged the applauds with a miniscule nod, his face expressionless.

Grand Sorcerer Argus Filch was a striking man. He didn't have the intimidating build or height but he was noticeable because of his face. A face with wrinkles in all the wrong places which could be terrifying if seen in a dark alley late at night.

It was rumoured that Miss Valeria Zabini had once set her eyes on him as a potential husband as he was one of the wealthiest wizards on the planet, but that she couldn't carry out her plan because he was just that ugly.

Of course, no one would dare to say so where he could hear but that was the first impression people got once they looked at him.

What they had no idea about was that Filch used his unappealing appearance to his advantage, getting rid of unwanted admirers or intimidating too nosy reporters.

He had no time for petty admirers or socialising with people as interesting and creative as cockroaches.

Filch sighed inwardly and played with the contents of his dinner some more, mentally berating himself for forgetting to instruct one of his house elves to prepare his own meal, just in case someone tried to poison him. And that happened much more frequently than he would prefer, even if his security was almost impenetrable.

As Grand Sorc. Filch contemplated just that, his eyes swept over the Gryffindor table and he noticed an another set of green eyes boring into him, wide and full of unguarded wonder. Filch touched the medallion on his left wrist and seconds later his mind was full of childish impressions.

-terrifying, confident, secretive - more than he seems- dangerous-

It didn't last long as the medallion could only sustain magic for so long but Filch got enough to know that the little bugger was worth to keep an eye on.

G.S. Filch smirked and raised his goblet (empty though it was) as a toast to Harry Potter.

The first year celebrity gulped and tore his haze away.

* * *

Maze of corridors away from the new defense professor's quarters, behind locked doors, Professor Quirrell, Muggle studies professor whimpered as his master ranted from the back of poor Quirrell's head.

"- to give that post to Filch!" Voldemort was fureous. "Ridiculous! What is he doing at Hogwarts anyway - Filch doesn't need money - what is so important that he decided to just go abandon his post in ICW - " The wraith ranted on and on.

"My lord-" Quirrell tried to interject.

"Not now, Quirrell!" Voldemort cut his servant off. "- of all the mindless things for Dumbledore to do! It's fishy, all right - but that's of no importance - I will outsmart them both, Dumbledore's buddy won't know what hit him - "

"But my lord - "

"Shut your gob, Quirrell and be useful for once!" Voldemort ignored his host as he continued on. "He knows something is up, no doubt. Muggle studies teacher suddenly deciding to make a career change, just as rumours of Philosopher Stone's location resurfaced - oh, the old fool is clever, very clever. We will have to be careful, Quirrell, and avoid Dumbledore's and his lackey's attention."

Quirrell stared dejectedly out of the lone window, his shoulders hunched. His lord wasn't listening to him at all - not that he thought his excellence would but Quirrell wasn't stupid.

If only he would just listen! Quirrell wanted to help, he wanted to point out that Filch's allegiance with Dumbledore was never proven or that Dumbledore had gotten a bag of flee ran robes from the Grand Sorcerer on the previous Christmas.

But Voldemort was adamant.

After all, during his first rise to power, Filch was one of the most powerful wizards famous internationally, who had plainly stated to the Dark Lord's face that he "will not support a mediocre wizard with delusions of grandeur, narcissistic personality and daddy issues."

Those were the exact words and Voldemort have never forgotten them, especially since the public somehow got the hold of the transcript of that particular conversation.

That Daily Prophet issue was still rated as the most popular one, even after all this time.

If there was one person who he wanted to destroy even more than Dumbledore or Harry Potter, it was Argus Filch.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Albus?" Minerva McGonagal asked as she sipped her evening tea, lounging in her mentor's office.

"What idea do you have in mind, Minerva?" Evasive as always Dumbledore kept his cards to himself.

"Oh, don't be stubborn Albus." Minerva chastised the older wizard, her stance tense. "You clearly know what I'm talking about - Filch!"

Dumbledore adopted contemplative expression as he munched on his favourite flavoured drops.

"Well?" the Head of Gryffindor house eventually lost her patience. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Your Scottish accent becomes more apparent the angrier you get. Did you notice it, Minerva?"

The Transfiguration's professor was only silent for so long before she started voicing her complaints.

'And all this' Dumbledore thought to himself, amused, as he drowned out her voice '-all this just because Filch had refused to take her on a date decades ago. And I thought Severus's grudge against all things connected to James Potter was ridiculous- '

* * *

Harry James Potter, a newbie in the world of magic, couldn't sleep in his four poster bed. The whole first day was nothing short of an emotional roller-coaster and Harry felt utterly drained.

And yet he couldn't sleep a wink as his mind was still occupied on everything that had happened. First, he almost didn't board the train because Hagrid had forgotten to mention how to get onto the platform, then he made his first friend and got sorted by a hat that read his mind and also insinuated that Harry was more suited for Slytherin, the worst house possible.

And last - the feast.

Harry was never comfortable with crowds. Growing up in a cup board as the Dursleys' most shameful secret meant he had minimal exposure to people and ever since he was introduced into the magical world it seemed that crows surrounded him wherever he went.

It was disconcerting. But one thing was the attention he got from his peers and a whole other thing was the stares he got from his professors.

They all were weird, Harry decided. Dumbledore smiled a lot (too much, in Harry's opinion) , the black haired potion's professor gave glares like they were leaflets ('Snape' Harry's mind supplied.) and he definitely glared at Harry through the most of the feast with no reason.

Then there was the professor with fuchsia turban on his head, shaking like a leaf and jumping every time Snape or the other professor asked to pass the salt or another item. Admittedly, Harry could almost overlook the ridiculous outfit because all wizards seemed to have no taste, but the jumpy behavior...

The eleven year old sighed and rubbed his eyes.

And then the new Defense professor. The one who tosted when he noticed Harry staring.

"That's Argus Filch - he's the member of ICW - that's the wizard's council with members from all over the world." One of the Weasley twins commented when Harry asked about him. "Dumbledore's friend, they say."

"You-know-who wanted to recruit him but he told him to piss off!" The other twin interjected but before he continued the prefect Weasley, a disapproving frown on his place said.

"He disclosed that information to the Prophet and fled the country."

"That was never proven!" Fred (at least Harry thought so) countered. "He's not a coward. He caught Rookwood and the Lestranges when they were sent to kill him!"

"Yeah!" George continued. "An why would he run if he can do wandless magic?"

And it went on like that, reaching more and more outrageous claims as more students chipped in, forgetting for a moment even about Harry Potter.

Harry who always was too curious for his own good couldn't help but think that he had to find out more about his new professor. Preferably on his own, as it seemed Weasleys had very contradictory opinions on the subject and Harry had no idea how Ron would react if he asked him about Filch.

How could he explain that he had a feeling there was something off about the new professor?

* * *

That very night as Argus Filch lay on the king sized bed his elves prepared for him in his given room - the unfamiliar place slightly bothering him - he smiled to himself triumphantly.

He was in.

Everything he ever thrived for, in both of his previous and current lives, was just a moment's reach away.

Once a renowned diplomat and politician, famous among the muggle circles but hated by most wizards because of his shameful mudblood heritage, now the man who had all the cards that mattered, he was going to take bold steps to claim what was rightfully his.

With or without any magical talent.

"Tomorrow, Daisy, I want you to perform everything as planned - the black board, the moving shelves, you know the deal." Filch ordered to one of his many house-elves as he prepared for the night.

The house elf in question was an old one and belonged to her master since her very birth. He raised her, in a sense so there was nothing she woudn't do for him, even if that meant memorising countless of combinations to imitate spells. After all, her great master had not even an ounce of magic in his body, he was a squib and only with the help of his house elves he managed to disguise it.

House elf's life was a difficult one. Most of the purebloods who kept them viewed them as nuisances and regarded their lives as expendable. Few of them even understood the very nature of house elves or their limits.

They obeyed their masters whatever the task, even if it went against the Gamp's laws of Transfiguration or any other limits that constrained wizards.

And Argus Filch never believed in limits. Or, that is, he aimed above them to achieve much more significant results and rarely missed his target.

* * *

That night, long after Minerva had left his office worked up and embarrassed by her own reactions to the new teacher, Albus Dumbledore drank the Dreamless Sleep potion, the only aide that worked to make him bear the night.

But even that potion couldn't block memories that were centuries old and for some reason resurfaced again recently.

And so he dreamed of the Eve of the twentieth century.

* * *

"They found their path blocked by a hooded figure. It was Death, and he felt cheated."

The auburn haired nineteen-year-old muttered to himself, repeating words of the tale he would never forget, and raised the bottle of cheapest alcohol he could find in the only store of the small Swiss village he now found himself in.

"Cheers." He said, toasting to empty air as he stood on top of one of the many green hills in Switzerland.

It was almost midnight and the young man, Albus, was surrounded by silence. Only the fire he had lit illuminated the place slightly.

Albus was alone, all alone and felt smaller than ever when just months ago he felt like on top of the world, omnipotent and almighty.

He was a fool, an infatuated idiot, caught up in an idea of grandeur and because of that he lost his family, never to be reunited. His little sister was dead and his brother would gladly cast the Ultimate Unforgivable on him if Abe ever saw him again.

"Never again," Albus vowed, in between the sips from the cold bottle. "I will never be a fool again."

He rubbed his itchy eyes and remembered the words his father repeated not unlike the gospel his mother often relied upon.

"If you lack the ability to acquire more, you deserve condemnation for your mistakes."

It rang in his ears as though his father was beside him, shaking his head disapprovingly at Albus and blowing the smoke from his pipe to his face.

It almost made Albus forget his father was dead, buried somewhere on Azkaban's island for his dishonour and failings.

* * *

**Ministry of Magic, DoM**

"Sir?" A slim fellow, with high cheekbones and stature that looked as frail as a leaf in a thunder asked. The man before him sat at his desk, his pose regal and his appearance even more so.

"Yes?" The voice betrayed no emotion except for, maybe, undisguised impatience.

"Argus Filch is back on the isles, he will be teaching DADA this year." The fragile assistant whimpered out.

His boss, every inch the model pureblood, down to styled nails and boots from drangon hide, nodded dismissively.

"You may go now." He ordered and turned away from the assistant rotating his chair.

Department of Mysteries used to be quite different before Regulus Black became it's Director. The workers used to research abstract magics that held no real value to the current wizards, most of them were smart wizards that were unwilling to share their knowledge that more often than not could have been detrimental if the wide public got ahold of it.

Regulus Black, however, changed the Deapartment inside out. He, after killing the previous Director and assuming his identity, had dismantled quite a few of divisions, e.g. The prophecy collectors, the love magic researchers, and sealed the death chamber, not because it wasn't useful to study death but because the Veil frightened the very essence out of him. It whispered to him, often.

Instead of those divisions he employed more researchers that dealt with spell creation, wards and the correlation between magic and muggle science. It took some time for them to get used to it, especially the pureblood wizards, but the results proved to be worth the trouble. Regulus, having grown up with radical pureblood ideals planted in his head, knew how difficult it was to overcome them. The only reason he even thought of finding ways to integrate muggle science was because of the year he spent 'in the underground', i.e. living as a muggle. He would have escaped that predicament as soon as it was deemed safe if only he had not succumbed to womanly wiles and fell in love. With a muggle physicist.

Asides from the new research divisions, Regulus then proceeded to create a spy network, over time amassing huge amounts of data that if released could have ruined more than one wizard.

However, there was one wizard who no one managed to get dirt on no matter how hard they tried. And his name was Argus Filch.

It annoyed Regulus to no end that the above mentioned Grand Sorc. could be so evasive. His security was very impressive, more so because it was disguised so thoroughly that there seemed to be no wards at all on his living territory, and yet no one had ever managed to get a peek, no even Black's best spies.

Because of that, Regulus had ordered to keep tabs on the wizard, so whenever Filch was in the country and not in the safety of his abode, Black's spy wizards alerted him. And then Regulus himself would employ his skills in order to uncover some skeletons.

So far nothing had worked on Filch but Regulus kept on trying. He was even sure that Filch himself knew someone was regularly keeping an eye on him but after almost a decade it seemed more like a fun part time cat and mouse game they employ when one of them was bored.

Now, it seemed, Filch decided to investigate the rumours of Philosopher's Stone being in Dumbledore's hands. The world of criminals was full of chatty half witted wizards and the word spread that someone tried to steal the stone of immortality just as Flamel made a transaction of it to Dumbledore through the half giant.

Most either thought it was just a story or that trying to steal something from Dumbledore during the school year was simply suicidal. Regulus, though, thought that it was a clear trap. He just had no idea who Dumbledore indented to capture.

The Director would even go as far to say that the stone that was hidden in the castle was a fake. He also knew that if he thought so, then surely Filch did as well. He knew from observing the man continuously that he wasn't an idiot.

Whatever his true reasons were, Regulus knew that something exciting was afoot and he would be damned to miss it.

If he didn't manage to find anything from his trip to Hogwarts, there was always the lead he could follow as a last resort. His cousin, Narcissa, to be exact.

And to Regulus, last resort meant Lord Voldemort's reappearance.

* * *

**Malfoy manor**

_N,_  
_Much is happening, I'm afraid. Interfering doesn't always help but I am trying. Wish I could see your lovely face but we both know such thing is impossible. The search pointed to Sweden. I sincerely hope you'll be able to affirm it (as quickly as possible)._  
_Love,_  
_A._

Narcissa Black sniffed, brushing the few tears away as she set the piece of parchment on fire. This was always her reaction after getting a letter from her former lover. It always made her regret her stupid, impulsive decisions she made during her teenage years. At that time, Lucius Malfoy seemed like a good choice for a husband as he was to inherit his father's significant fortune but it all went sideways when Lucius decided to join Voldemort in order to gain glory.

She was terrified at the time - her fiancee a death eater, along with her insane older sister and her other one disowned for falling in love with a muggle - it was no surprise that when she met Argus Filch for the first time she was in awe. He was powerful, bold and mysterious and above all he was his own man. And Filch, having plenty intelligence, quickly played his cards correctly.

Oh, she knew he had manipulated her when they first met now. But after all that happened it didn't really matter.

After all, petty grudges and silly power plays waned in front of the threat of unity between two immortal megalomaniac wizards like Voldemort and his ancestor.

Narcissa inhaled and exhaled a few times to calm herself before descending to the dungeons. She had work to do.


End file.
